What Is Divine
by The Box of Mystery
Summary: In their war against the Hylden, the Vampires are exalted as the righteous guardians of Nosgoth. But after being unwillingly thrown into its midst, a healer's apprentice uncovers evidence calling their benevolence into question.
1. Prologue

A mockingbird nearby heralded the end of another night of screams and blood. The terror was finally over. For now, at least.

The birdsong was a welcome sign of reprieve, but it failed to lift her spirits. She knew these hours of peace were fleeting; the horrors would begin anew at sundown. Anyone caught outside after dark became an instant target for death, and she could not risk becoming one herself. If she was going to leave this damned village behind, she needed to do it now.

But she could not burn it. Not yet.

Rosine tightened her grip on the torch, but it did nothing to strengthen her resolve. The flame cast a flickering glow over the funeral pyre, such as it was. Firelogs, many of which she stole from nearby homes, and a mixture of dry leaves and hay comprised the small makeshift pyre. Rosine dropped her gaze, ashamed at its pitiful appearance. Even so, she knew it was the best she could do under the circumstances.

Her child deserved a better fate than this.

She forced herself to look up at the body resting on the pyre. A thin blanket pockmarked with holes covered it from head to toe, undisturbed in the still autumn morning. The contours of its slender frame were visible through the fabric, but the area around the face was noticeably flat and speckled with reddish-brown stains. Although it had somewhat faded, the stench of blood still clung to the body like an intangible second skin. It was no longer fresh, but regardless, Rosine knew the scent would attract those beasts.

Strange how, only days ago, she considered some of them as dear friends.

Rosine shook her head; it was essential for her to focus on the task at hand. Tradition demanded that all pyres be burned at first light, so that the souls of the departed could find their way to God and His Wheel of Fate, where all living creatures in Nosgoth were compelled to return. The time to mourn would come later. For now, she needed to carry out her role and release her child's soul.

She lowered her torch to the base of the pyre, her vision blurred by suppressed tears. "Forgive me, sweetheart," she whispered.

No sooner had she spoken than she heard the telltale crunch of dry grass underfoot. Rosine turned to find out who had come to share in her grief.

A scream lodged itself in her throat.

Large black wings pumped the air twice before dipping down in the tall grass out of sight. It was no longer a question of who had arrived, but rather what.

Rosine scurried behind the pyre, praying fervently that it had not seen her. In her more sensible mind, however, she realized she was perhaps the only human who dared to set foot outside in days, let alone still breathed. The creature would have to be blind to miss her. But if it had spotted her, why did it not strike her down? She was alone out here on the outskirts of the plains, and her back had been turned, completely unaware of any danger lurking behind her. Rosine provided the perfect opportunity for a kill, played the role of victim flawlessly, and yet she lived. Had she made it too easy for the beast's liking? Did it prefer a frenzied chase instead?

The torch slid out of her hand and splattered into the mud. She muttered a swear under her breath and snatched it up, but it was too late. Caked with soggy filth, the flame quickly sputtered and died in wisps of smoke.

Before she could curse again, Rosine heard the whisper of rustling grass. Gripping the dead torch with both hands, she peeked around the wood pile.

A large pale blue male figure eased himself out of a crouch and rose to his full height. He threw a swift glance over his shoulder, his wings twitching in agitation. Clearly he feared being followed, or perhaps an attack from his own brethren. Finding no one, he breathed a soft sigh before resting his gaze on the pyre ahead of him.

Rosine took the opportunity to study every inch of this imposing individual. He must have been almost seven feet tall, and his enormous wings, each nearly twice his size, contributed to his massive frame. In spite of his appearance, however, his tattered but immaculate white robe and black trousers revealed an attempt to preserve some measure of dignity.

As she watched, the creature squared his jaw, shrugged the tension out of his shoulders, and took a determined step forward. Rosine slipped further back, but was too captivated to completely turn away.

He carried himself with all the reverence of a priest. Each footfall was carefully placed, as if he were walking in a procession. As he drew closer, he clasped his cloven hands in front of him and bowed his head, murmuring in a language she recognized as that of the Vampires. She could not understand what he said, but his solemn tone indicated that perhaps this was some sort of prayer or blessing.

Rosine sat back astonished. There were so many names she wanted to hurl at him. Murderer. Blasphemer. Traitor. Devil. Yet now, when she had the chance, she lacked the words or the compulsion. This was not the bestial behavior his race had readily embraced. Despite his kind's recent fallen status, he still sought to retain, or perhaps reclaim, their once regal nature.

He fell silent when he reached the base of the pyre, pausing for a moment to study its shoddy assembly. His gaze then shifted to the body lying upon it. He frowned at the poor condition of the blanket, but that was his only criticism. It was not the covering that concerned him, but who lay under it. Undeterred by the flecks of blood on the facecloth, he reached his hands around the neck.

This was too much for the grieving mother.

"Don't you DARE touch her!" Rosine shrieked and raised her torch to strike him.

She suddenly found herself staring into a startled soft blue face. What rooted her to the spot was not fear, but the bright golden eyes that bore straight through her.

Predator and prey stared at each other. Neither moved. Neither spoke. A fragile stalemate had begun.

* * *

Please feel free to drop a review! Any constructive criticism (Especially after SIX YEARS away from the fanfic world. Yes. Six years. You read that right.) would be greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 1

Fingers plucked at her blanket.

"Miss Lidja?" a girl's voice whispered.

_Oh, God. Not again_.

She rolled over, determined to ignore the child pestering her.

"Miss Lidja?" A series of light tugs on her braid followed.

"Go back to bed, Sarah," she groaned. "Unlike you, I value my sleep." She slid deep under the covers, hoping they would shield her from the midnight nuisance.

"We all do, Lydia," a woman muttered drowsily beside her. "Just find out what she wants and be done with it."

Lydia flung the sheets back and glared at her neighbor. "I fail to see how you are incapable of doing that yourself."

"Simple," the woman said. "She asked for you."

Lydia opened her mouth to retort, but thought better of it. Arguing with Gretchen at this ungodly hour would make for a fierce headache and lack of precious sleep, a deadly combination for someone who despised mornings.

And Gretchen was right: Sarah had specifically asked for her.

She turned over to face the girl. Her small frame was barely discernible in the darkness.

"What is it, Sarah?" she asked.

"I heard a noise outside."

Lydia resisted the urge to clap a palm over her eyes. "Of course you heard a noise outside. You have been hearing noises outside for the past four nights. And every time we went looking for it, there was never anything there."

"This again?" Gretchen groaned into her pillow.

"It seems that way, yes," Lydia said. She looked back at the child. "And I suppose you want us to find it. Out in the cold. Again."

Gretchen sat bolt upright. Strands of long blonde hair hung like vines over her eyes. "Oh no! There is no 'us' this time, Lydia! I am not about to wake Master and Madam Leitch over what is most likely nothing!"

"They left, remember?" Lydia said. "Master Leitch is treating a brain fever and-"

"And Madam Leitch is tending to a wife in labor. Now I remember." Gretchen waved a hand in front of her face, dispersing the sleep that fogged her memory.

Lydia thought she heard a hint of frustration in her response. As her apprentice, Gretchen should have left with Madam Leitch. However, the midwife asked her to stay behind this time, citing personal reasons for her decision. Her husband was still away with a patient, and her daughter was far too young to be left unattended at home, especially at night. On the other hand, the screams and blood that accompanied childbirth would terrify the girl, so bringing Sarah with her was out of the question. This left only one option, which resulted in Lydia returning home to be greeted by the sight of Gretchen sulking from across the room.

Lydia sympathized. Master Leitch had been training her in the healing arts since she was ten, and she had learned much. Still, there were patients which he preferred to treat without her help, either out of private inclinations or, such as in this case, out of necessity. In spite of her disappointment, she had no choice but to trust his judgment in these matters.

Gretchen snapped out of her groggy haze. "But that changes nothing. I refuse to leave this bed."

Lydia furrowed her brow. "So you will have me go out there alone?" she asked, pointing an indignant finger to the window.

"No. Sarah will be with you."

"She hardly counts! I highly doubt any thief would flee at the sight of a six-year-old!"

Sarah paid no attention to their argument. She busied herself with her rag doll's attire, tugging at her dress.

Lydia scrambled for a solution. "Gretchen, at least stay awake until we are back inside. I would feel better knowing there was someone waiting for us."

Gretchen narrowed her eyes at her, considering the suggestion. "Fair enough. Now go! I want to spend these last few moments of night asleep."

Lydia smiled. "Thank you. I appreciate it." She turned her attention back to the girl. "Are you absolutely sure you heard something?"

Sarah nodded. Shadows of dark ringlets bounced around her face.

Lydia sighed. "Fine. Give me a moment."

She planted her feet on the wood floor and shivered. Although spring had arrived, the underlying chill of winter refused to release its grip on Nosgoth. The wooden walls in the Leitches' home could not contain what little heat they absorbed during the day.

Lydia cast an idle glance beside her. A leather strap bearing the branded image of a bundle of herbs lay flat on the bedside table. Every healer-in-training was required to wear these bands around their wrists to identify not only their level of skill, but also where they were receiving said instruction. This particular symbol indicated she was Master Leitch's apprentice.

_Not for much longer, though_, she thought with a smile as she slipped it on.

"Come on!" Sarah cried. She wrapped her frozen fingers around Lydia's hand and dragged the reluctant woman out.

They rushed into the sitting room. Light furnishings emitted a cozy atmosphere, which visitors and potential clients adored. One look at the bare fireplace, though, robbed it of its charm. Over the past few months, firewood had become an expensive necessity. The Leitches often complained about the rising prices, but knew that they were fortunate compared to others. An increasing number of people could not afford to burn a fire for any need other than cooking. For them, warmth was a luxury.

Lydia grabbed her winter cloak she had draped over the chair by the fireplace earlier that evening. She clasped it on while she searched for her shoes.

"Hurry!" Sarah whined. She stood hopping beside the front door. Judging by the soft thumps, she was still barefoot.

"Not until you put shoes on, young lady!" Lydia said. "We are not setting foot outdoors until you are dressed for it!"

Sarah groaned but obeyed. She dashed off to her bedroom in the back of the house. While she waited for her return, Lydia found her boots sitting by the door. She slipped them on her feet, now aching from the cold, and worked to unfasten the latch.

_She needs to hurry_, she thought. _By the time we step outside, the Vampires would have won and the war will be over!_

The battle between the Vampires and the Hylden had been raging on for nearly a thousand years with no signs of surrender. The Vampires were Nosgoth's protectors of the True Faith and served as mankind's main line of defense against the Hylden. They sought to keep their war as far from humanity as possible, but circumstances would occasionally force them to ask for assistance. Whether it was food, medical supplies, or their recent need for firewood, the Vampires always received more from the grateful humans than they requested.

Lydia thought the humans would be more grateful if the surplus were returned.

"Miff Lydda?"

Sarah's muffled voice jarred her out of her thoughts. She cocked her head to glance behind her.

The girl's boots clomped across the floor like dull hammers as she slowly made her way towards the door. Her cloak looked as if it would swallow her whole, and her scarf enveloped her face in a sea of wool. Only her eyes were spared. They peered up at Lydia with pleading desperation.

Lydia bit her lip to hold back a laugh. She considered that scarf a double blessing. Not only would it keep the child warm, but it would also shut her up for a time.

"Are you ready now?" she asked.

"Mmm-phmm."

She cracked the door open. A new wave of frigid air snaked through, chilling the occupants inside. She clutched at her cloak in a vain attempt to salvage whatever warmth it contained.

Sarah shoved past her. Lydia reached out to grab her arm but missed. "No! Wait for me!" she yelled.

The girl ignored her. She waddled around the corner and disappeared from view.

Lydia pursed her lips. She had endured Sarah's antics for the past four nights, but this blatant act of disrespect would not be tolerated. With a sharp reprimand in mind, she stormed outside and slammed the door shut.

An icy gust of wind wailed through the empty street, threatening to tear her cloak off her body. She eyed the dim alleyways surrounding the house. Achtenbour was considered by many to be one of the safest cities in Nosgoth. It also boasted the land's oldest and most renowned healing institution: the Achtenbour School of Healing. Located just a few minutes' walk around the corner, Lydia passed by it everyday on the way to the market. She always stopped to admire the border of rose bushes encircling the dormitory, which produced vivid red blossoms every year with petals like velvet. If these beautiful bushes solely existed for the sake of decoration, she reasoned, then their herb gardens must be spectacular. It saddened her to know she would never find out for sure. Thousands applied, but only a lucky qualified few received an acceptance letter.

She paused for a moment to gaze up at the imposing structure. With its lofty spires and grand stained glass windows, it resembled a cathedral more than a school. Unfortunately, its architecture failed to shield it from the onslaught of passing years. According to rumor, it was not unusual nowadays for students to stumble over rotting boards riddled with termites. Even so, the school's foundation stood firm.

The sight of a rat scuttling out of a nearby alley startled her. It huddled behind a lone barrel and raked its paws furiously over its whiskers. Lydia looked on, wondering what or who could have driven it out. In spite of the city's glowing reputation, crime still thrived here. These alleys in particular were notorious for thieves, who slipped through networks of bystreets in search of ignorant passersby. Those foolish enough to walk these streets at night often returned home with lighter pockets and a terrifying story.

They were the fortunate ones.

"Sarah!" she yelled. There was no reply.

She gathered up the trailing end of her cloak and raced after her. Even criminals were severely impacted by the Vampires' war. These thieves rarely attacked children, but given the current conditions, she doubted they considered themselves above kidnappings, especially if the parents were wealthy upper-class citizens.

Sarah was hardly high-born, but she was still a viable target.

Lydia rounded the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. Sarah stood in the street staring up at the roof of the house. She paced back and forth on the cobblestone, craning her neck for a better view.

"Sarah Martha Leitch!"

The girl jumped, letting out a surprised squeak.

Lydia waited for the wind to die down before speaking again. She was not in the mood for repetition.

"I told you to wait, and you disobeyed me! You know we are supposed to stay together! What if someone snatched you up or-"

A bright orange flash exploded behind them.

Sarah screamed and scurried behind the young woman, clutching her skirt in tight fists. Lydia could only watch, numbed by the suddenness of the blast, as towers of flames rose from the Achtenbour School of Healing. The blaze quickly devoured its ancient walls, dry as kindling from the winter drought. It let loose a whirling roar as it doubled, then tripled in size.

Lydia grabbed the girl's hand. "Sarah! I need you to go inside! NOW!"

The girl made no response. She stood frozen, hypnotized by the swirling flames.

Lydia shoved her towards the house. "GO!"

Sarah stirred at her touch and sprinted away. When she finally heard the front door slam shut, Lydia raced off towards the school. If the neighbors were somehow still unaware of the danger, they needed to be warned and given ample time to escape.

Wave after wave of scorching heat swept through the streets. Her eyes watered in spite of the cloak drawn over her face.

Another explosion blasted the shutters off their hinges. She huddled against the wall of a nearby house. Splinters showered the street, prickling against her hands and neck.

Screams quickly followed.

The shutters, having either burned or fallen away, revealed the ensuing chaos inside. Panicked silhouettes dashed in and out of view. Some attempted to smother the flames with pillows and blankets. Others tried to protect their belongings by tossing them out of the open windows. Occasionally a charred hand would fling a necklace or keepsake box into the bushes below before dropping out of sight, never to be seen again.

Still others adopted a more desperate approach by hurling themselves into the street. The height of the fall was cruelly short. Engulfed in flames, the men and women rolled from side to side, thrashing what remained of their bodies against the stones.

Thick columns of smoke rose from the school. Without the wind to disperse them, they merged to form a massive dark cloud that loomed overhead like a gathering storm. Gray tendrils curled across the night sky, carrying the heavy sweet scent of burning wood, along with another more disturbing stench.

Through it all resounded unwavering endless screams.

The commotion attracted the attention of nearby residents. A few brave souls rushed to help. Some tried to carry the victims to safer ground. Several others raced around the corner to return with buckets of water from the district well. They dumped their contents onto the fire, then ran off to fetch more and start all over again. The rest fled, or stood paralyzed, unable to avert their eyes from the horror before them.

Lydia found herself plagued by the latter. It was her duty as a future healer to administer aid to the wounded. However, one look at their scorched black flesh forced her to reconsider. Even with every medicine and tool at her disposal, it would be impossible, and futile, to attempt to save these people. Returning their souls to the Wheel of Fate would be the merciful choice.

She slowly stood and watched, uncertain of what to do.

"Lydia!"

She glanced back to find Gretchen hurrying towards her, gripping the hem of her nightshift in her fist. The flames illuminating the street around them highlighted the faint speckling of freckles on her nose. "Are you hurt?"

Lydia greeted her friend's worried look with one of her own. "No, not at the moment. Where is Sarah?"

"Still inside. I told her not to open the door unless she heard the secret knock."

"Good. I would not want her to witness this."

Gretchen caught sight of the bodies lining the road and clapped a hand over her mouth. Her face displayed a seamless blend of shock and disgust. "Can anything be done for these poor souls?" she asked, her words muffled through her fingers.

"No." Lydia paused to tuck a strand of dark hair behind her ear. "I hate to sound callous, but it would be a wasted effort."

Gretchen bowed her head and drew a circle on her chest. "May God guide them to the Wheel."

Lydia hurriedly followed her example. "Yes, yes, may they find the Wheel. Now we need to leave!" There was a time to be pious, but now was not it. She grabbed her friend's hand to drag her away.

Gretchen jerked back, halting her in mid-step. "But to where? Our masters are not home yet! How will they know where we have gone?"

"I can find a spare piece of parchment and write a note telling them where we are. There should be some in my master's desk."

"But where are we heading exactly?"

Lydia wondered if sleep had addled this woman's mind. "Away, obviously!" she snapped. "Anywhere that takes us as far away from that fire as possible! What these people are

doing is admirable, but trying to put out a fire of that magnitude is akin to dousing our fireplace with mist!"

Gretchen spoke slowly with mounting impatience, as if Lydia were a dim-witted child. "I understand the need, Lydia! I just need to know the where! Two women and a small child drifting through panicked streets in the pitch-black dark is hardly a competent plan!"

"I suppose you have one, then?! Let's hear it!"

Over the sounds of turmoil came an underlying low moan. The women turned towards the sound.

All color drained from Lydia's face. Gretchen choked on her scream.

A woman, still wearing her day clothes, lay motionless on their roof. Her hips jutted sharply upwards where her back had snapped in two, forcing her body into an angle that matched the rooftop with sickening perfection. Ragged claw marks streaked across her face. Rivulets of blood seeped down her features into her long black hair, matting each strand with gore.

Lydia prayed that Sarah had stayed far away from the window.

The woman opened her mouth, revealing jagged fragments of teeth, but no words came out. She stretched her hands out in a silent plea.

Lydia slowly stepped towards her, but it seemed like a mindless action. Numb and distant, it was as if she were a sentient puppet, compelled to move by hidden strings.

A small piece of leather slipped off the woman's wrist with a thump onto the ground. Lydia quickly grabbed it and held it up to the light. An elaborate emblem had been branded onto the square. She could barely make out the image of a mortar and pestle encircled in a wreath of herbs.

"Gretchen, come here!"

Her friend marched up to her and peered over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"I need your eyes. Take a look at this." She dropped the leather square into her hand. "Do you recognize it?"

Gretchen squinted as she studied it. "Give me a moment."

"Does it look like we have a moment?! I doubt she does!" Lydia flicked her eyes back to the injured woman dangling overhead. She stood on her tiptoes and dabbed the woman's bloody face with the hem of her cloak. It was a poor substitute for a true healer's touch, but like the burn victims, the only action that could benefit this pitiful soul would be to pass on. Her injuries were far too severe to even attempt to remedy them. All Lydia could do was provide whatever comfort she could offer and let her go in relative peace.

"Wait! I know this symbol!" Gretchen cried, her eyes widening with recognition. "This is Master Lack's insignia! She was his new apprentice!" She abruptly frowned as a new thought struck her. "But they live in the Southern District. How did she come here?"

The answer arrived all too swiftly.

Lithe armored bodies plummeted from the sky on leathery wings. Unaffected by the smoke, they swarmed the streets like roaches, gliding straight into the terrified crowd. A few soldiers landed and gave chase, their cloven hooves clacking against the cobblestones. Several others pursued the humans from above, knocking them to the ground with a wing or fist. The rest rose to the roofs to wait their turn.

There was no doubt left in anyone's mind: These were the Hylden.

Shrieks and screams erupted from both sides. People raced around the streets trying to fight their way out. The Hylden swooped down again and again, laughing at the terrified humans trampling over each other.

Lydia and Gretchen quickly found themselves swept up in the madness. A Hylden soldier dropped down on top of them, lashing out with his hooves. The women screamed and scattered. Gretchen ducked, but received a sharp blow to the side of her head. She fell, her skull cracking like a nut against the stone.

Lydia ran straight towards the door. She reached for the knob.

_Almost there!_

A bright red flare streaked past her outstretched hand and slammed into the front step. The magic disintegrated the stone to powder. She screamed and jerked back.

Another flare hurtled into the ground just under her skirt hem. She let out a shriek and bounded away from it, only to encounter yet another one whizzing over her head. Each flare sent her reeling in another direction, sometimes leaping, other times sprawling to the ground. The soldier laughed and summoned more, amused by the panicked dance his magic inspired.

Lydia finally collapsed in the middle of the road, her forehead slick with sweat. The stones felt cool against her cheek, but this comfort was minor at best. She coughed, gagging at the resulting metallic taste in her mouth.

A glance upwards confirmed that the soldier was still there. The glow of the fire cast a gold light across his plate armor, but it failed to improve the appearance of his sickly green skin. A thin helmet concealed most of his face, only revealing the malicious glint in his grey eyes. Judging by the deep frown etching the corners of his mouth, he was displeased that his entertainment had taken an unannounced intermission.

"Get up," he growled.

Lydia tried to roll onto her back, but immediately regretted it. The cobblestones dug deep into her ribs with every move she made. She wrapped her arms around her middle and hissed through gritted teeth.

The pair of hooves clacking into her line of sight did little to improve her situation.

Neither did the sharp kick between her shoulders.

Lydia cried out and curled up at his feet. Clammy sweat beaded all over her face. Wave after wave of nausea swept over her.

"I said get up!"

He kicked her side with such force that she rolled out of the road, barreling through a couple of rubbish bins. A fine layer of dust settled over her motionless body.

Lydia could hear him stomping towards her, a hollow menacing sound, but she was too exhausted and sore to move.

"When I give you an order, female, obey it." He stood over her, another beating imminent.

The glistening scrape of metal against metal implied a fate far worse.

She kept her eyes scrunched shut. Better to die ignorant than fully aware and in terror.

Lydia imagined him lifting his weapon over his head. "I do not offer mercy to vermin such as-"

"Mistress Lidja?"

A glance to the house confirmed the worst. Sarah stood on the sidewalk with the door gaping open. Her wide blue eyes darted around, taking in the surrounding nightmare.

And leaving herself vulnerable.

The Hylden soldier forgot all about Lydia. "Well, good evening, little one." He slowly approached the frightened child, his sword still in his hand. Its wicked curved blade gleamed in the firelight.

"You should not be outside, little one. It is far too dangerous for a child so young." He spoke with such paternal concern it seemed almost honest.

Lydia frantically peered around, but saw no one. _Where is Gretchen?!_

The soldier sheathed his weapon and kneeled in front of the girl. "What is your name, child?"

Sarah stared unblinking into his face. "S-S-Sarah," she whispered.

"Ah, a beautiful name for such a lovely girl," he said with a reassuring smile. "How old are you, Sarah?"

"Six."

"Really? You know, I have a youngling about your age. She has blue eyes just like yours."

A loud crackling cut him short. The school's rafters, scorched black, buckled before they inevitably snapped like twigs and tumbled into the fiery ruins below. Sarah whimpered.

The soldier quickly turned his attention back to her. "Now, Sarah," he said. "I have a few questions for you. Can you try to answer them for me?"

The child's lower lip began to quiver. She nodded.

Lydia tried to force herself up, but the stabbing pain in her sides drove her back down.

"Is your mama or papa at home?"

Tears welled up in Sarah's eyes. She shook her head.

"No? Then who is this?" He stood and gestured beside him. "Your sister?"

Lydia craned her neck to peek around him. Gretchen's body lay unmoving in the middle of the road. Pale blue eyes stared back at her, glassy and vacant.

She choked. _Please don't be dead!_

Again, Sarah shook her head no.

"How about her?" The soldier cast a sidelong glance back at Lydia. She froze as his gaze fell on her.

"No," Sarah said.

"You have complete strangers residing in your house?" he asked.

"No!" she said. "They are 'pentisees!"

"They are wh . . . OH! Apprentices! I see!" he laughed.

Lydia scrounged through the overturned rubbish bins for a potential weapon. Whatever the Hylden soldier was searching for had something to do with them, and it was clear that Gretchen would no longer be of any help. His interrogation with Sarah needed to end quickly before he could glean more information from her.

"And what arts are they being trained to use?" he asked. "Healing, perhaps?"

Lydia found what she needed. It was not much, but it would suffice.

For once, Sarah refused to respond. She had spoken too much.

The Hylden soldier knew this as well. "She is what sort of apprentice?" he asked again. He nudged Gretchen's body with his hoof.

"Midwife," Sarah blurted. She bit her lip, trying to dam the flow of words spilling out of her mouth.

"Ah, I see," he said. "And her companion is-"

Something blunt clanged against his helmet. Flashing lights blurred his vision.

"SARAH! RUN!"

In the midst of the reeling scenery and distorted shapes, he watched the child's small hazy figure hop off the front step back inside and slam the front door shut. The soldier narrowed his eyes and whipped around to confront the idiot who dared to interrupt him.

Lydia lurched to a sudden stop. Her plan to render the soldier unconscious and take Sarah to safety had not been quite as effective or brilliant as she imagined. Uncertain of what to do, she gaped at the broken broomstick handle in her hand, then back at the infuriated soldier currently blocking her path.

The Hylden flared his wings, pulled out his sword and drew his lips back into a twisted snarl.

Now she knew what to do.

Lydia lobbed the broomstick at him and bolted into a side street. It clinked harmlessly off his armor, but the fact that it inflicted little damage no longer mattered. All she needed now was time to flee.

A bright red flare scorched the ground beside her. Then another. She darted around corners, fumbled over rubbish, dived to avoid his spells, but she never stopped. Unfortunately, neither did he. At one point, she thought she detected the stench of singed hair, but that only urged her on. To slow down meant surrender, and she was not about to admit defeat, not with Gretchen dead and Sarah in the house alone. But her feet ached from exertion and cold, and the ground had never looked so inviting.

Suddenly there was a loud crash of metal against metal above her. Lydia chanced a peek over her shoulder.

Nothing. Apart from the clouds of smoke, the skies were empty.

Lydia staggered to a stop. With her pursuer gone for some unexplained but welcome reason, she could finally catch her breath and regain her bearings. She could not linger for long, however. There was no way to know when he would return, and considering his persistence, a prolonged rest could not be guaranteed. She leaned back against the wall, gasping for breath.

One glance around stole it away again.

Rickety shacks lined the alleyway like sentries, each one more hopelessly decrepit than the last. Several leaned to one side, bordering on collapse. Entire patches of their roofs were missing. Some stood wide open, their doors having been either stolen or misplaced a long time ago. Staring at these haphazard buildings reminded Lydia of stories she had heard about Achtenbour's thieves and their dens. Rumor had it that they stored their loot in hideaways such as these, as well as committed unspeakable horrors against those who happened to provoke them once too often. The dark windows and lack of noise was proof enough that the shacks were unoccupied, but the thought brought little comfort to her. Just because they were empty now did not necessarily imply they would remain so. Lydia took a deep steeling breath, wiped the clammy sweat off her palms onto her nightshift, and crept out to the silent street.

She ought to have heard or seen some signs of life, but there were none. In the wake of the approaching inferno, everyone had fled their homes, abandoning everything they owned in exchange for their lives. Doors stood wide open, inviting every prospect for theft and vandalism. Screams continued to echo far off in the distance. If she could locate the crowd, she might be able to find her way back home and find Sarah. Lydia rushed over to the closest house beside her and climbed the stairs, straining her neck as she searched.

Her heart clenched in her chest.

Terrorized throngs of people had fled en masse to the northern gate, the only entrance and exit to and from Achtenbour. It seemed that the Hylden had planned on this outcome all along, and were taking full advantage of the situation. They dived into the crowds again and again, but this time, their strategy took a bizarre turn. After their attack, they returned to the air clutching a flailing human in their arms or slung over their shoulder. They took their hostages into the clouds, vanishing from view altogether.

A glowing red spark drifted in the wind, snatching Lydia's attention away for a moment. It was quickly caught in an updraft and whisked away onto the next street. Seconds later, bright flames rose from a house close by. More sparks dispersed into the breeze. They flitted from house to house like skipping stones over a lake, igniting everything in their path. The trail of flames was spreading rapidly, consuming homes as well as time to escape.

Lydia rushed back down the steps. If Sarah was still in the house, she would have been right in the epicenter of the fire. She could be trapped inside waiting for Lydia or her parents to come back. Or worse, the Hylden may have found her, or left her to burn. Then again, Sarah was not always the most obedient child. Maybe she recognized the danger in staying and ran off with the crowd. If she made it to the northern gate, there was still a chance that she made it out of the city. A six-year-old girl would be too small and insignificant to be noticed in a rampaging mob.

With that thought, Lydia realized that perhaps the Hylden were not the greatest threat after all. Visions of Sarah being trampled underfoot stormed through her mind.

A loud crash from across the street alerted her to a petty opportunist, who was quick to reveal himself. The young man, dressed in fine black trousers and a white silk shirt, staggered out onto the front porch of the house across from her. His arms were heavily burdened with fine silver platters and an entire porcelain tea set. Strands of his leather-brown hair fell into his face, forcing him to flip his head back so he could see. He hummed softly to himself as he concentrated on navigating his way down the stairs.

The towering flames from the School of Healing rose even higher, lighting the streets as if it were broad daylight. Lydia must have been nearly invisible before, or he was too occupied to note her presence, because he took one look at her and dropped his loot with a loud clang. Shards of porcelain scattered all over the ground at his bare feet.

"How long have you been there?" he asked, mortified that he had a witness.

"Not long enough for you to find out!" Lydia yelled back, then turned away. Finding Sarah was the most urgent issue now, and there was only one way to know for certain. She hiked up her skirt and ran towards the flames.

"Wait!"

The thief was faster than she thought. No sooner had she taken off than a strong hand grabbed her wrist and whipped her back around.

"Where in the hell do you think you are going?!"

"Where does it look like I am heading?!" She started running towards the fiery tower again, but his grip held fast.

"Have you lost your mind?! You could be killed! There is nothing left in there worth your life!"

"You know nothing about me!" she shouted. "I am going back for a little girl, not some damn trinket!"

"You may as well pray for her soul, then. People have been flooding out of that hellhole for almost an hour now, and I saw no children. You should hurry to the northern gate and save yourself."

Lydia refused to back down. "What good would that do? The Hylden followed them there and kept up their attack! As far as I know, she is not with them, but I have to go back and make sure. If she still lives, leaving her behind would be a death sentence, but until I know for certain, I cannot and will not take that risk!"

"Spoken so nobly by a woman roaming the streets in her nightshift."

"You are one to talk of ethics, thief!"

The man laughed, which she found bizarre, considering the situation. "Fair enough. Your goal is an admirable one, I confess. If you will, allow me to redeem myself in your sanctimonious eyes."

"Oh, for God's sake! I have no time for this!"

"Just hear me out!" His hold on her wrist relaxed. He stared down at her, his dark brown eyes twinkling with mirth. "My name is Matthew, and I hail from Meridian. Do I need to stand here longer so you can memorize my features?"

"If this is an attempt to impress me, you are trying too hard."

"I am giving you what you need for your part of the proposal."

"What proposal? I never agreed to one!"

"You will, once I name my terms. You can charge into the flames after your child as you wish, but your chances of survival would be much more optimal if I accompanied you. For all we know, the Hylden may return, and unarmed as you are, you would pose no threat to them."

Lydia raised a skeptical eyebrow. "And I suppose you would?"

He reached down and patted a leather knife hilt at his side. Lydia chided herself for not noticing it earlier. "I am quite handy with a blade, I assure you."

She gulped and nodded. "Very well. But what do you wish from me?"

"If I escort you and the girl to safety, then you cannot report me to the reeve. The two of you can live together in peace, while I walk away a free man. What say you?"

Lydia wanted to tell him he was wasting her time, but voicing her opinion would have been precisely that. Precious seconds had been squandered listening to this criminal talk of false promises, which she knew full well were intended to satisfy his sense of self-preservation. Then again, it would be a true waste of time to refuse him and go on alone. An extra pair of eyes and an armed hand would never go amiss.

"Fine," she consented. "But you have to keep up. I have no intention of standing around while you ransack another house!"

With that said, she once again gathered up her skirt and raced towards the fire.

"Wait!"

Lydia slowed her pace and glared back at him. She was beginning to wonder just how stupid this man could possibly be. "What did I just say?!"

Matthew responded by tearing her cloak off with an assertive rip, stealing all of her ire along with it. Lydia suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable, like a snail without its shell. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.

"Before you object, your highness, allow me to explain." He held up the shredded length of cloth in his fist. "Walking into open flames wearing this would be like lighting a candlewick, but with less practical and more excruciating results on your part." Matthew tossed it down into a disheveled pile by his feet. He approached her, speaking more gently this time. "I am trying to uphold my end of the bargain. You could at least place a little faith in my actions."

His plea fell on deaf ears. Lydia shoved past him, her temper rekindled by his snide attempt at a nickname. "Right now, all my faith is placed in finding Sarah alive. For all I know, you probably just want to see me naked."

"Considering the length of your nightshift, that is a likely possibility."

His lecherous remark was all she could stand. "That does it! To hell with you!" Lydia sprinted headlong down the street back towards the School of Healing, unfortunately all too aware of Matthew's obnoxious presence close behind. Whether he truly shared her concern for Sarah, sought to redeem himself, or was just entertaining the romantic notion of a dashing rogue hero, she had no idea. It could very well have been a combination of the three. Whatever his motives, although she was reluctant to admit it, she was grateful to have another living human being as company. It comforted her to know that there was someone safeguarding her.

She hoped he would, at least.

Lydia turned the corner and stopped, a wall of shock freezing her where she stood. Just as she had feared, flames continued to ravage the homes surrounding the School. Having devoured the structure and its inhabitants, it found fresh fuel in the neighboring buildings. Their rooftops had all been set ablaze and, right in the very heart of it, stood the Leitches' house.

Or the charred remains of it. Only the support beams still stood, blackened and scorched, the skeleton of a loving home with an equally devoted family. If Sarah had done as she was told, then Lydia had unwittingly condemned her to an incendiary death. She could barely feel the waves of blistering heat lapping at her skin, or the tears sliding down her nose.

"Is that your home?"

Lydia angled her head back to look at him, touched by the note of concern in his voice. "It was."

Matthew closed his eyes, bowed his head and, just as Gretchen had done, drew a circle on his chest. "May God guide her to the Wheel." In a surprisingly tender gesture, he took her by the hand and gave it a squeeze. "We should go. You can grieve for her once we set foot outside the city walls."

"MISS LIDJA!"

Her heart stopped. ". . .Sarah?" she called out.

Nothing. Then suddenly, a child's shriek as the flames rose higher.

There was no time for doubt or hesitation. Lydia tore herself from Matthew's grasp and bolted into the fire with all the bravado of a soldier charging into battle. "Hold on, Sarah! I'm coming!"

The roaring inferno surrounding her drowned out Matthew's cries for her to come back, but she ignored them. Sarah's safety took precedence over the wellbeing of a common thief. Red-hot embers singed her feet, and the broiling heat made her eyes sting. Cupping a hand over her face helped to shield her from the glare of the fire, but offered little relief. She passed house after house, each one incinerated nearly to cinders. It was almost as if she were running along an incendiary path in Hell, damned to an eternity of flames and false hopes.

She prayed her own hopes were not misplaced. "Sarah?"

It happened so quickly, she nearly missed it. Out of the corner of her eye, a mop of blonde curls bobbed of sight, ducking behind the remnants of the Leitches' house.

Lydia quickly followed. "Sarah, where are you going?"

She ran around the corner and found the girl huddled beside a rubbish bin behind the house. Apart from a few smudges of ash on her nightshift, Sarah looked miraculously untouched. She kept her face buried in her knees, rocking back and forth as she cried.

Lydia stooped down and held out her hand. "Come on, Sarah. I arranged for safe passage out of the city. The Hylden have gone elsewhere! We can go now!"

No response.

Lydia had not anticipated this reaction. In retrospect, though, she ought to have foreseen it. If a loved one left her in the midst of the most deadly circumstances imaginable, she doubted she would trust them either. Even so, she still needed to coax Sarah out of her hiding place. She began pleading with the girl. "Sarah, I am so sorry I abandoned you, and I have no expectations of forgiveness from you, but I am here now. I came back to find you so we could leave this place together! Your mama and papa are probably outside the city walls at this moment looking for you. They may even have Teacup with them. Now, come out of there." She reached for her again.

Not even the prospect of being reunited with her family and her favorite doll were enough to lure her out. The girl continued to cry.

"Oh dear God! Run, woman!"

Lydia was quickly running out of options. Maybe actions would succeed where words fell short.

"Are you deaf?! What are you doing?! Just ru-"

Matthew was yelling somewhere behind her, but Lydia paid no attention to him. She sank to her hands and knees and crawled towards the girl. "Sarah?"

The rancid stench of burnt garbage overwhelmed her senses, rapidly flooding her nostrils and creating a burning sensation in her throat with each breath. She stopped to cough into her fist, but the pain persisted. In such a potent environment, it was a small wonder that Sarah suffered no ill effects at all. She touched the girl's arm. "Sarah, dear?"

A Hylden face lunged at her with a hiss.

Lydia screamed and jumped back, right into the waiting arms of another Hylden. A calloused hand clapped itself over her mouth.

"Is this the one he sought, cousin?" the voice of a young and eager female rang out. She held Lydia up as if she were displaying a trophy for the adoring crowds to see.

"I should hope so," the other Hylden replied as she stepped out of the back alley. The last traces of her enchantment dissolved like shimmering sand off her tan skin. "The captain would be displeased if we wasted our efforts on a mistake. Still, a mistake could always be subjective."

Suddenly she snapped her gaze overhead, her eyes darting around as she scried the clouds.

The young soldier shared her concern. "Are they-"

"They have broken our lines!" her cousin hissed. "Our troops are retreating! We must go! Give her to me!"

Before Lydia could react, the soldier shoved her into the elder's open arms. Their armor was quite durable, she discovered, when her face was crushed into a polished shoulder plate. As she struggled to break free, there was a swift surge upwards as her captor leaped into the air alongside her relative. Achtenbour shrank away beneath them, a myriad of dying red and gold embers gleaming in the night. Even the crowds were silent from up here.

The city veiled itself from view as the trio penetrated the smoke barrier. Lydia's eyes watered, and she felt as if she swallowed hot grains of sand with each breath. This was as inhospitable an environment there could be. However, the haze had not wholly compromised her senses. Battle roars and the clang of armor against armor seemed to rise from everywhere. Fleeting winged shapes wheeled in and out of sight, but it was impossible to distinguish the victor from the conquered.

"Scout ahead, cousin," the elder ordered. "Find our path of retr-"

A silver ray of light swiped across her face, cutting her short. She shrieked in pain, but held the woman fast. Lydia could already see the damage it had dealt. An inflamed, angry blister striped over the bridge of her nose.

"Show yourself, Vampire!" the young soldier snarled, drawing her sword in defense of her comrade. "Casting spells from the dark will not make you worthy of my time!"

The response arrived as a sword blade thrust through her midriff. Blood spurted from the exit wound, dripping red on both weapon and armor. The soldier looked on, eyes and mouth wide with horrified astonishment.

"But your inane babble was not worthy of mine," a male voice replied. The sword wrenched itself free of the Hylden's corpse with a crunch, letting the smoke devour her as she fell.

It was here that Lydia finally caught sight of their assailant. A pale blue Vampire rose from the smoke, his wide black wings pumping at the air. The steel armor on his torso, legs and forearms glinted in what little light filtered through the clouds. Golden eyes gleamed out from the shade of his helmet. One look at the gore-spattered sword in his cloven hand was proof enough that he was in no mood for mercy.

The surviving Hylden wasted no time mourning her kinswoman. She beat her wings and soared higher into the air with the human in tow.

A solid wall of black feathers blocked her path. She hissed and dived back, this time cut off by a steel-plated torso.

The Hylden prided themselves on their speed and precision, but the Vampires' size belied their dexterity. Again and again she fled, plunging through the smoke, reeling, spiraling, feigning stops and starts, but the vampire repeatedly intercepted her, swooping around her with the grace of a falcon, using his own body as a physical barrier.

Lydia writhed in the Hylden's arms and screamed at the Vampire. She had no idea what she was trying to say, if indeed she was attempting any form of speech. In fact, she was astonished that she still had a voice at all. Even so, she needed to attract his attention somehow. The deafening noise of troops in combat combined with blinding smoke could easily conceal her from the Vampire's view. Although he flew right over them multiple times, there was no guarantee that he had set eyes on her. She had seen the carnage on his blade, and she had no intention of being skewered by her potential savior in the heat of battle.

The Vampire made another pass close to them. She wriggled an arm free and waved to him.

A silver attack spell seared across her palm. Lydia shrieked and curled herself around her injury, trying to shield it from further harm.

"You witless child!" the Hylden cursed. "How severe is it? Let me see the wound."

Lydia clutched her arm close. She had used her left hand, which she recognized now as a horrible mistake. "No!"

The Hylden lost all patience. "Let me see it!" She grabbed the woman's arm and jerked it away from her.

Suddenly she stopped in mid-flight. "Where is it?" she asked, staring at Lydia's blank wrist. "Where is your brand?"

Lydia had no explanation except that she had not earned it yet, but she was not about to put it in plain words.

The Hylden shifted her gaze back to the woman. Her dull brown eyes searched her face for clarification. "He said you were a healer."

"Surrender the woman, heathen, and I promise you a swift Return!"

A delicate smile crept along the corners of her mouth. "And how would that be a fair bargain?" She slowly turned to face the Vampire, disregarding the sword point lingering at her throat. "I die; she lives. How can a mere mortal place value on a single life?"

Lydia was grateful that the smoke masked his face. Veiled in its dark embrace, the Vampire's figure seemed to swell with righteous indignation. Doubts of his earthly nature scurried through her mind.

"She is not one of your race, Hylden!" he roared, each word resonating with divine authority. "You and all of your kind are beyond redemption! The humans accept our teachings and the salvation the Wheel of Fate bestows to all. But the time for reiteration has passed. Release her!"

His adversary simply smiled at his sonorous display. "You need not fear for her life, Vampire," she said, stroking Lydia's hair. "Her circumstances have undergone a slight alteration. She is not quite as useful as I had been led to believe. You may have her . . ." The Hylden held the woman out to him.

And let go.

* * *

There's another chapter for you folks! As always, please feel free to leave a review. Constructive criticism only, please! Now, if you will excuse me, I am going to crawl into a corner and pass out after typing that 15-page mammoth. *barely makes it two feet before face-planting onto the carpet*


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